


Rubbing Elbows With the Moon (Please Teach Me)

by elrhiarhodan



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-05
Updated: 2011-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 00:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High School A/U where Peter is teaching calculus in a private school in Connecticut. Neal is his star pupil.<br/>Warnings/Enticements/Triggers:  Discussion of sex (non-graphic) between minor (17 year old) and adult, past (non-graphic) reference to sex between a minor (16 year old) and adult. Brief intimate contact between minor and adult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rubbing Elbows With the Moon (Please Teach Me)

Peter hated that he'd been scheduled to teach a second class of Calculus in the last period of the school day. The kids were bright, but they were still kids and by three in the afternoon, they were often tired and stressed out and eager to get out of school for the day.

All except Neal Caffrey. He looked like a bad boy - with his leather jacket, tousled curls, his wicked blue eyes, a body like a Greek god (not that Peter really wanted to notice these things, but he did). But just as you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, Peter learned that despite the glorious looks and the devil-may-care image, Neal was every teacher's dream student.

In the dozen years he'd been teaching Calculus, he never had a student quite like Caffrey. The boy was a sponge, so eager and willing, it took Peter's breath away (and he didn't really want to think why).

Since the beginning of the school year, Neal would come into the classroom a few minutes early, sit down in the first row, center desk and start to chat.

He'd ask him about his political opinions, which Peter didn't usually like to talk about with his students - but Neal had no boundaries whatsoever and Peter found himself revealing far more than he would normally. Maybe it was because Neal was far more informed, his own opinions much more mature than even Peter’s colleagues. If current events weren't the topic, it was about art or music. Neal had eclectic tastes - far beyond what any seventeen-year-old should have. They talked about new sounds or classic jazz or the newly renovated exhibit of Tang Dynasty ceramics at the Met just as easily as they'd discuss the differences between Newtonian and Leibniz notation.

Peter knew he should put a stop to this - whatever "this" was - but Neal was like his own personal angel, bringing light and a little sweetness into his otherwise dry and dusty world. And he looked forward to those few minutes with young Mr. Caffrey - way too much these days.

Peter wondered why the boy didn’t hang out with his friends, and started to keep an eye out for Neal during the school day. Despite his good looks and abundant charm, the kid didn’t seem to have any close friendships - or any friendships at all. He never saw Neal talking with other students. In fact, he appeared to be a bit of a social outcast. A look at his records revealed that Neal had transferred into the Clarkridge School after spending three years boarding at the Wendover Academy. He had been an academic and athletic star at his former school, but there were some notes about some interactions with other students (a codeword for fighting) in the latter half of his junior year. The guidance counselor at Wendover had suggested that maybe Neal would be happier in a school where he could have a little more personal freedom. Peter wasn’t sure what that meant.

But it at least he understood why Neal was such an outsider – it’s hard to make friends in a small school where everyone else knew each other since the seventh grade. So, Peter accepted that Neal was simply a smart and lonely young man, and happily gave him the attention he needed. And if Peter had other thoughts, he kept them tightly repressed. He had never been attracted by extreme youth, and he justified his reactions as a simple response to the boy’s adulation of him.

A few weeks ago, Neal showed up very early. He was shaking and clearly upset about something. Peter didn’t even get a chance to ask him what was wrong before the boy shoved an envelope at him. It was from a Yale. “Your first choice?”

Neal couldn’t get the words out, he just nodded.

“It’s thick.” Peter commented on the contents of the envelope.

“That’s good, right?”

“Do you want me to open it?”

Neal nodded again.

He slit it opened and read the letter. Peter just smiled at Neal.

“I got in?”

“Yeah.”

Neal let out a whoop and launched himself at Peter, hugging him. “Thank you! Thank you, Mr. Burke.”

He pulled away. “Can I cut class? I want to go tell my mom.”

Peter shooed him off – grateful for once not to have to have Neal front and center. The young man’s spontaneous hug made him feel a little too much. And that was a problem.

It wasn't until Neal started staying for a few minutes after class that the problem became serious. And career-threatening.

* * *

It started shortly after Winter Break - the whole class was struggling with inverse functions and differentials. Even his star pupil, Neal, was having problems. But while the other kids scattered at the bell, Neal - his angel, his own personal demon - asked if he could get some extra help.

The fifteen minutes quickly became a half hour, and the half-hour somehow expanded to an hour.

By the beginning of March, Neal was staying late almost every day.

"Doesn't your mother get worried? It's nearly 5 o'clock."

For the first time since the school year started, Peter saw something unpleasant in Neal's eyes.

"My mother? She couldn't care less. Right now, she's too busy with her own life to care if I'm home right after school."

An evil thought occurred to Peter. "Neal - does your mother have ... a problem?" He tried to be delicate - kids didn't like when adults pried too hard.

"A problem? Oh, you mean does she do drugs or booze, right?" Neal laughed. "No - my mother's only addiction is to her job. She's a big-shot lawyer, a partner in a big firm on Wall Street, and it's always about the clients and the cases. The housekeeper's cool - she makes dinner and leaves it for me to reheat."

"What about your father?" Peter knew that despite the wealth that supported this exclusive private school, there were still kids that lacked the traditional two-parent home.

"My father - you've got to be kidding me. Mom got herself knocked up at a sperm back when she was thirty. She wanted a kid, but didn't want the hassle of a husband."

Peter tried not to feel sorry for Neal - but damn, this must be why the boy was clinging to him like a limpet. He wanted a father figure. That's all. Those wide-eyed looks were meaningless - or they didn't mean what Peter's twisted and dirty imagination thought they meant when he dozed off at night, in his empty bed, in his lonely house, with his hand on his dick.

"Are you married, Mr. Burke?" The question was innocent enough.

"Not anymore." Peter didn’t know why he answered Neal.

"Your wife left?" Neal was blinking at him - those ridiculous eyelashes fluttering like semaphores.

Peter nodded.

"Why?"

"Mr. Caffrey - I don't think that's really any of your business." He said repressively. It wasn't - not that he thought Neal would tell the other kids, but his wife left him because he didn't have a vagina and she didn't have a penis, and they were both very tired of the lies. They remained good friends, though - and they got together every few months to catch up on each other’s lives.

Neal looked down - a little hurt, a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right - but there are just some things that teachers and students shouldn't talk about together."

Neal changed the subject - asking him if he ever applied calculus to the patterns on Moorish tiles. It seemed that Neal had been to an exhibit at the Cooper-Hewitt last weekend, and was fascinated by the spirals and repeating patterns. Peter was impressed, and this was a topic he himself had been interested in. Enough so that he wrote his Master’s thesis on the subject of applied mathematics in pre-modern art.

They talked about math and art until someone poked their head in the door. It was the principal, Hughes. "Burke - haven't you looked out the window? There's a blizzard on its way. You need to clear out." The old man then noticed Neal sitting there. "Young man - you've missed the last bus. Is someone going to come and pick you up?"

"Yeah - I've got a car coming for me at five."

Hughes took the boy's words at face value, but Peter knew that Neal was lying. He was far too glib.

"Okay - you can wait at the front entrance. Burke - we're going to close for tomorrow. Get home safely."

As principals went, Reese Hughes was a good administrator, and despite his gruff attitude, cared about his teachers and his students. When Peter told him about his divorce and the reasons why - Hughes didn't go crazy, didn't make any dirty-minded assumptions, and just suggested that if he found himself in a permanent relationship, he shouldn't keep it in the closet. Rumors don't survive the light of day.

The old man left, and Peter looked at Neal, who was packing up his textbooks.

"You don't have a ride, do you?"

Neal shrugged. "I can walk, it's not that far."

Peter looked out the window - it was getting bad, and there was no way he was going to let Neal walk home.

"Come on, I'll give you a lift."

The boy smiled at him like he was Santa Claus, and Peter kept telling himself, _just a father figure, just a father figure_.

His car, a sturdy black Ford Taurus - perfect for the boring Calculus teacher that he was - was already buried in 6 inches of snow. Neal helped him clean it off, and when he lobbed a snowball in his general vicinity, Peter reminded himself that Neal was still a kid, and he threw one back.

It could have descended into a full-fledged snowball fight except that the school's snowplow arrived and the driver called out - "Follow me to the road."

He got in, made sure that Neal was buckled up and they hit the road.

Neal gave him directions, and Peter couldn't believe that the boy thought he could walk home. It was at least eight miles through some pretty undeveloped areas. He concentrated on his driving, trying not to think about the jailbait stretched out next to him.

"Mr. Burke?" The kid interrupted the impending train wreck of his thoughts.

"Yeah, Neal."

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"If you tell it to me, it won't be a secret any longer."

"Why do adults always have to split hairs like that?" Neal sighed, clearly annoyed.

Peter didn't say anything, and he kept his eyes on the road. He wasn't sure he wanted to be the keeper of this young man's secrets.

After a moment or two, Neal asked again. "So can I tell you?" His voice was quiet and unsure of itself.

Peter again reminded himself, _father figure, you're a father figure_.

"Yes, Neal. You can tell me."

"You won't tell anyone else, right?"

_This must be important._ Peter considered all of the ramifications of keeping a student’s secrets.

Neal must have noticed his sudden reluctance, because he added. “I’m not doing drugs or going to commit suicide. Or a crime or anything.”

Peter thought for a moment more. “If I don’t think you’re in danger, I won’t tell anyone. Is that good enough?”

Neal didn’t say anything, and Peter wondered if he changed his mind about talking to him. “Yeah, Mr. Burke. That’s okay.”

"Neal – you do understand that I’m just looking out for you. I’m not trying to tell you what to do, okay?"

“Yeah, okay.”

Neal was quiet for a few seconds, and he took a deep breath. "I'm gay."

Peter didn't say anything. He tapped lightly on the brake pedal to avoid skidding as they came to a red light. He looked over at Neal, so damned young, so vulnerable. So damned beautiful.

He wasn't going to ask Neal if he was sure. Peter knew all too well what a devastating question that could be.

"You're practicing safe sex?"

The kid didn't answer.

"You're using condoms, right?" He hoped he didn't sound too much like a PSA.

Neal mumbled something.

"I didn't get that. What did you say?"

"I haven't had sex yet!" The young man shouted. Peter was startled - by both the shout and Neal's revelation, and he braked to a hard stop, nearly skidding into a tree.

"Sorry." Neal's apology was quiet.

"What have you got to be sorry about?" Peter thought he was about to have a heart attack.

"Dunno... Yelling. Dumping this on you. Being a gay virgin. That’s why I got kicked out of Wendover. For being gay - not for being a virgin." Neal sounded heartbroken.

Peter backed out onto the road, and kept the car in low gear. "There's nothing to be ashamed about. Absolutely nothing."

Neal didn’t say anything more and Peter concentrated on his driving - the snow was falling even more rapidly, visibility was practically zero. Thankfully, they made it to Neal's house - or at least halfway up the driveway without any further problems.

Then disaster struck. Neal's house was at the top of a long, curving driveway, which was completely unplowed. Peter's car, dependable as it was, couldn't hold the traction on the uphill climb, and spun out, skidding before coming to a stop against the brick retaining wall.

"You okay?" Peter's first thought was for his passenger.

Neal nodded. "I'm fine. You all right?"

“Yeah.” Peter wondered if he’d be able to get a tow truck out here in this weather.

Neal got out and blazed a path through the heavy snow and as he followed, Peter couldn’t help but shake his head at the exuberance of youth.

To say that the Caffrey house was big was the understatement of the year. It was an honest-to-god mansion, probably built in the 1920s. “You and your mom live here alone?”

Neal dumped his coat on the banister of the grand curving staircase, and put Peter’s on top of it.

“Yeah. It was my grandparent’s house. They’re dead – so it’s just my mom and me. And the housekeeper. But she doesn’t live in anymore - not since I went away to boarding school.”

The thought made Peter’s blood chill. “So you’re alone when your mom works late.”

Neal wrinkled his nose. “Would I be in trouble if I told you that Mom lives in the city Mondays to Fridays? She hates to waste time commuting.”

Peter couldn’t help but think what a miracle this boy was. He’d practically raised himself. But it was wrong. “I don’t know what to tell you Neal – your mother needs to be a mother first.”

Neal shrugged. “She’s not going to change. She’ll just pull me out of Clarkridge and stick me in another boarding school for the rest of the year.”

Peter didn’t want that – but something needed to be done. If just to make sure that Neal didn’t do something stupid.

“Ummm, Mr. Burke. Do you want to have dinner?”

Peter sighed. “I need to call a tow truck.” He flipped opened his cell phone. _Damn, no signal._

“You probably won’t get a signal out here – it always goes to zero in bad weather. There’s a phone in the kitchen that you can use.”

Peter followed the boy and found himself in a large airy kitchen – probably recently renovated. The glow from the snow outside lit the marble countertops and the blonde wood.

“There’s the phone.” Neal pointed to a handset and went to make himself dinner. Peter dialed Triple-A, and watched the frightfully self-sufficient young man put together a somewhat gourmet meal. It would be about two hours for a tow truck, and he gave the dispatcher Neal’s phone number as a call-back.

When he heard how long the wait would be, Neal looked back at Peter and smiled. Peter was once again struck by his beauty; it was like an arrow through his heart.

“Hope you like Fettucini Carbonara…’though I leave out the peas.” Neal sniffed and Peter smiled. Neal was still a seventeen year old boy.

Peter set the table, and he was disconcerted at how comfortable he was in this little domestic scene.

“I think there’s wine, if you want.” Neal tried to sound grown up.

“No thank you – water will be fine.”

And then Neal reminded Peter that he was still a teenager as he flung a strand of pasta against the wall. At Peter’s snort of startled laughter, the kid explained that that’s how they did it in Italy to test that it was cooked _al dente_. Peter doubted that the Italians did it that way, but he had heard of the trick. Neal expertly tossed the pasta in the sauce and presented two perfectly plated dishes.

The boy shrugged when Peter complimented him. “I like to cook and I like to watch Food TV – it’s like the chefs are talking to me.”

They ate with little conversation. Neal seemed suddenly very shy.

“Mr. Burke?”

“Yes, Neal.”

“Ummm, you won’t tell anyone what I told you. Right?”

“Neal – I gave you my word.”

“I suppose you think it’s funny that I haven’t had sex yet.”

Peter chose his words with great care. “No, Neal. Not in the least. Sex should be about more than satisfying hormonal urges.”

“You mean, it should be about love?” Neal snorted. He was a seventeen year old boy, and that concept must be so alien.

Peter shook his head. “Neal – I don’t want to sound like a hypocrite, but yeah. The first time, at least – it should have some meaning. You and your partner should care about each other.”

“When you fucked a girl for the first time, were you in love?”

_Dangerous waters…_ “Mr. Caffrey, watch your mouth.”

The boy mumbled an apology.

Peter relented. “No, Neal. The first time I had sex, it wasn’t about love. It was messy and unpleasant and I ended up hating myself afterwards.” He was careful not to lie. The first time he had sex was when he was sixteen - the man was in his forties. He felt dirty about it for weeks. It was worse when he had sex with a girl for the first time.

Peter watched as Neal toyed with his food, his silverware. And despite his own best intentions, Peter did feel like a hypocrite. But to tell Neal, who was struggling with his own sexuality, that he himself was gay – that seemed both wrong and an act of compassion.

They were both startled out of their silence by the shrill ring of the telephone. Neal picked it up, listened, and then handed it to him.

It was the tow truck dispatcher. They hoped he had a way to get home, because the roads were closed and no one was going anywhere.

Neal must have been watching him closely – because he got a worried look on his face. As soon as he disconnected, Neal pounced.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Burke?”

“No tow truck.” He picked up the phone, with a half-hearted idea of calling a cab. Spending the night under the same roof with the boy was going to be disastrous.

Neal was all smiles. “That’s great – well, not that your car’s been crushed – but that you can stay over. It’ll be fun.”

Jeez – the kid was treating this like an impromptu sleepover. “Neal – I can probably get a cab.”

“Mr. Burke – if tow trucks can’t come – cabs won’t either.”

Peter glared at his student. “Who taught you to think so logically?”

If Neal’s smile was any brighter, Peter would need to wear sunglasses or go blind. “You did, sir.”

Peter wished Neal hadn’t called him “sir.” He shifted in his seat.

“Okay…but I’ll need to go back out to my car. I have to get my briefcase and my gym bag.”

“Cool – I can watch you work.”

Peter had a mental facepalm moment.

“Can I leave you with the dishes while I go out to my car?”

“Sure – the alarm hasn’t been set on the door – and it won’t lock unless you set the deadbolt.”

It took Peter a good ten minutes to get from the house to his car and back. It looked like the snow was falling at more than an inch an hour, and by the time he made it back inside, he was soaked to the knees. Neal was waiting for him with a cup of hot chocolate.

Peter was grateful until he took a sip – it was so sweet that he nearly gagged. But it was hot and Neal’s smile was … well. Not something he wanted to damage.

He handed the kid back the mug and took his coat off. His shoes were soaked through, as were his socks, and despite the hot drink, he was starting to shiver.

“Mr. Burke – if you want to change, we’ve got plenty of guest rooms.”

“Thank you, Neal.”

He kept his shoes on, not caring that he was tracking snow and grit on the polished marble stairs. Neal showed him into a large bedroom.

Neal snapped on a light. “This was my grandfather’s room – but Mom had it redone after I was born. She wanted to make it an office, but I don’t think she’s ever used it.”

There was an empty desk in the outer half of the room, a couch and fireplace in the middle, and a king sized bed dominated the rest. There was also a small en-suite bathroom.

Neal smiled – and it seemed that that was all he was doing – smiling at Peter like Peter was his only friend in the world. “My room’s just down the hall, Mr. Burke. But we can meet downstairs. There’s a library with a fireplace and a huge TV.”

Peter wanted to get away from the combination of Neal and large beds. “I’ll see you downstairs in a few minutes.”

* * *

True enough, by the time Peter had changed into his dry sweatpants and socks and went back downstairs, Neal was waiting for him. _Like an eager puppy._

“I took your briefcase into the library. I hope that’s okay.”

“Thank you, Neal - but I could have carried it.” He followed Neal into the library. It had, as promised, a huge TV, a fireplace, several comfortable-looking couches and an enormous desk with a computer - a large Apple iMac that Peter figured was the newest top-of-the-line model.

The boy licked his lips. “Mr. Burke, sir...”

Peter groaned mentally. _Again with the “sir.”_

“Yes, Neal?”

“You can share my desk - it’s a ‘partner desk’ - it belonged to my grandfather.” Neal beamed with pride.

It was, in fact, a two person desk, equipped with a double desk lamp that Peter was certain was Tiffany.

The boy stood there, eager and anxious.

“Thank you, Neal. You’re very generous.” Peter was rewarded with another blinding smile. He tried to subdue his body’s reactions when Neal pulled a chair over and sat him down.

They worked in companionable silence for a while. Peter marked the tests he had given to his three pre-Calculus classes, reviewed the lesson plans for the Calculus classes and estimated that there were only going to be a dozen students who would be prepared for the AP exam. Though this was Clarkridge, and all of the kids would take the test in June.

Neal seemed involved with his homework - flipping between old fashioned textbooks, the school mandated iPad and his computer. As Peter packed away his own materials, Neal pushed himself away from the desk and announced that he was done.

It was only eight o’clock.

“Would you like to watch a movie, Mr. Burke?” Neal bounced from one foot to the other - beautiful and adorable and Peter wondered if it would be safer to just go up to bed.

“Sure - anything you’d like.” Peter watched as Neal picked up the remote and started flipping through the channels, stopping at a channel that played foreign and independent films. Something in black and white, with German dialogue was playing.

“Ever see _Wings of Desire_ , Mr. Burke?”

He had - and it was one of his favorite movies. “It’s a good film - you’ve seen it?”

“Yeah - it was playing at the Angelika a few months ago.” Neal named the famous Greenwich Village art house cinema. That troubled Peter.

“You go down to the city by yourself a lot?”

Neal shrugged. “Yeah - sometimes Mom doesn’t make it home on Fridays, so I take the train down and meet her for breakfast on Saturdays, spend the day in the city and we come back together.”

The picture of Neal’s family life just got a little grimmer - for some reason, he figured that Neal spent most of the day on his own.

Neal muted the volume and looked at Peter. “Can I ask you something, sir?”

“Yes, Neal. You can ask me anything.”

Neal ducked his head.

“When you said before...that my first time should be with someone I care about, did you really mean that - or were you just telling me that so I wouldn’t have sex? I mean - adults are always telling us not to do things that they do all the time. You’re not bullshitting me, right?”

Peter wished he were anywhere else right now. This was a moment of truth. The kid was way too smart to be fobbed off with some line that paraphrased a health class textbook. Neal would undoubtedly see right through it, think he was the same as every other adult, and then go out and do something stupid. Or he could tell him the truth - or at least the truth according to the life of Peter Burke.

“Neal…”

The boy interrupted him. “I’ve been thinking that if I keep making a big deal out of it, I’ll never do anything. I mean - I’ve watched movies and stuff - even some of the really gross stuff on the internet, but - if I just go to one of the dance clubs and get together with a guy there, how bad can that be?”

Peter’s temper just about exploded. “Neal - that is the most idiotic thing I’ve ever heard. I am appalled that a smart young man like you would even think of doing something so criminally, criminally stupid.” Peter didn’t want to think about the rage he felt at the thought of someone else touching Neal, kissing him, holding him.

Neal turned white and looked like he was about to burst into tears.

He forced himself to calm down. “Come here and sit down.” Neal didn’t move. “Neal, come here.” Peter patted the couch, and the kid reluctantly sat.

“Remember when you asked me to keep your secret?”

Neal nodded.

“I’m going to ask you for the same favor.”

Neal blinked. “You’re going to tell me a secret?”

Peter nodded, then shook his head. “It’s not something that no one else knows, but it’s definitely not common knowledge, and it’s not something that any of your fellow students need to know.”

“I won’t tell anyone else, Mr. Burke.” Neal stared at him, his eyes huge unblinking pools of blue.

Peter looked at his hands and then back at Neal. This was a conversation that needed to be held eye-to-eye.

“Neal - you aren’t the only homosexual in this room. I’m gay too.”

Neal didn’t move - he seemed frozen by the news. Peter watched the expressions cross his student’s face. He was incredulous at first, then Peter thought he saw a spark of happiness, but finally his face settled into lines of anger.

Neal got up off the couch and paced the room, glaring back at Peter. “You were laughing at me when I told you, weren’t you.”

“No - Neal - absolutely not. Why would I laugh at you?”

“Because I’m just a silly kid, coming out like it’s some great big deal.” He was shouting at Peter.

“Neal, Neal…” Peter didn’t get a chance to finish his thoughts before Neal bolted from the room, eyes filling with tears.

The kid was quick, but Peter was faster. He grabbed Neal’s wrist and hauled him back to the couch. He tried to bolt, but Peter kept his fingers wrapped around him like a manacle. “Sit down and listen.” Neal tried to pull his hand away, and Peter finally released him when he made no move to run.

“First of all - I would never dream of laughing at you. I am honored that you trust me enough to tell me. I know exactly how hard it must have been.”

Neal’s face was set - he wasn’t giving Peter an inch.

“I knew I was gay when I was thirteen - and if you think it’s difficult now, it was impossible back then. Do you have any idea what it was like in 1977? To be queer? A faggot? A freak? And it wasn’t just getting called names. You were a target - and no one would come and help you if you got your face kicked in.”

Neal finally looked at him. “Is that what happened to you?”

“No, I never told anyone. But kids somehow knew.”

Neal nodded.

“Is that what happened at Wendover?”

He nodded again.

“I denied it, of course. I dated, I played sports, I did everything a normal kid was supposed to do.” Peter stopped, the memories still had the power to make him retch.

“But?”

“There was a guy at school - the basketball coach. He told me I was good and that with a little extra practice I could make the varsity team.”

“What did he do to you?” Neal sat next to him, hunched over and looking terrified.

Peter considered all the answers he could give that wouldn’t traumatize the young man, but then decided on the truth as the best and only answer.

“I think that he saw me for what I was, or maybe I was just another eager, vulnerable kid to him. I did a few weeks of after school practice with him, and he kept telling me I was going to make the team. The week before tryouts, he kept me for an extra hour, and when I was in the locker room changing, he came in. There was no one else there - all the other kids had left. He told me that he wanted me - that he knew what I was and that he understood.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“Yeah - but not deliberately. It wasn’t like he forced me. It was just...ugly.” Peter clenched and unclenched his fists. “I didn’t like him - I mean, I didn’t dislike him. I was curious and I wanted someone to touch me the way I wanted to be touched. But doing it in a cold, smelly locker room - with someone who really didn’t care about me - made it all wrong.”

Neal didn’t say anything.

“I don’t want that for you. You are smart - the smartest person I’ve ever met.” Peter was careful not to call Neal a kid - because this was not a discussion for kids. “You have so much promise, so much potential. You do something like you’re thinking about - it could ruin you. Do you understand that?”

“I … I guess so.” Neal shrugged, clearly uncomfortable that Peter had brought the discussion back to him.

“Neal - you go to the city and hook up with an older guy. What do you think is going to happen? Is he going to take the time to make you want it as much as he does? Or are you thinking about going into the men’s room and letting a guy put his dick in your mouth - on your knees in a room that stinks of piss and semen, surrounded by a dozen other guys doing the same thing?”

Neal flushed beet red, uncomfortable with Peter’s frankness.

“Neal - that’s not you and it’s not for you. You deserve better than that.”

“But there’s no one here. I hate the guys at school - they’re all idiots and jocks and there’s no one to talk to who understands me ... except you.” Neal’s speech was breathless and all of a sudden, Peter could see the wheels and gears in the young man’s head locking into place.

Between one moment and the next, Neal launched himself at Peter, burrowing close, his hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere, a bundle of hot temptation.

“Neal, Neal - stop. Stop it.”

“No - Peter - don’t you see? It’s perfect. You understand, you know what it’s like. You can teach me, you can show me. You won’t hurt me. I know that. Please, please, please.”

Neal was clinging to him, climbing on him - offering himself in ways that Peter would never let himself even dream about. It would have been so damn easy. He _could_ make it right for Neal, he could show him, teach him - bring him happiness _and_ pleasure.

But it would be wrong. Wrong beyond imagination.

He grabbed hold of Neal’s wrists and tried to push him away. “Neal - no. You have to stop. Please.”

They grappled - Neal trying to climb on top of him, rubbing against him, and Peter doing everything he could to keep away. It shouldn’t have been that difficult, Peter had the advantage of height and weight and strength, but Neal was like an eel. Finally, Neal slid off the couch and crouched at Peter’s knees, eyes wide, mouth opened, hands on Peter’s spread thighs. He closed his eyes at the provocative picture the young man made.

“Neal - listen to me. You have to stop this, now.”

“Why - why. Don’t you like me? Peter?” Neal used his first name again, the way he said it sent chills down his neck.

“Neal - I like you. Of course I do - you are my student, someone I am very proud to know. But what you are asking for is wrong.”

The petulant expression on Neal’s face made him look about thirteen, which helped Peter regain some control of himself. Then shame seemed to flow over Neal like a tide. He got up and stepped back.

“I - I’m sorry. I should have realized.” Neal gaped and blinked and the tears that threatened earlier burned tracks down his cheeks.

Peter knew he was going to damn himself by asking. “Realize what, Neal?”

“That you are with someone - that you’ve got a boyfriend.”

_Oh, god - what an easy way out of this._ For a very brief moment, he thought about letting Neal believe that. But a lie is a lie - and something that could so very easily be found out.

“No, I don’t have a boyfriend or a partner. And I am not saying ‘no’ because of that - it’s ‘no’ because it would be wrong.”

“Because I’m too young for you?” Neal sat down again, not at his feet, thank god, but next to him. Almost close enough to touch.

Peter took a deep breath and tried to find his sanity. “Neal - your age is a big reason why I’m telling you ‘no’.”

“I’ll be eighteen in two weeks.” He pulled out his wallet and his driver’s license and handed it to Peter. “I’ll be legal then - you won’t have to worry about statutory rape or anything.”

Peter looked at Neal’s license - and his birthday was in fact in two weeks. But that didn’t matter. “How the hell do you know about statutory rape laws?” Peter was very concerned why Neal would want to know something like that.

“Wikipedia.” Neal grinned, and then got shy. “There was a guy I liked at Wendover - he was nice to me. A senior - and he said we couldn’t do anything because he could go to jail, so I looked it up.”

Peter could see Neal doing that - but it surprised him that one of his classmates would know about age of consent. “How old were you at the time?”

Neal looked at everything except Peter.

“Neal?” He drew out that syllable.

“Fourteen. I was in ninth grade.”

Peter handed Neal back his driver’s license and resisted the urge to interrogate him on what he did with the older boy.

“Neal - age aside - even when you are eighteen - you can’t have a relationship with me. I’m your teacher. It would be morally wrong.”

“No one has to know.” Neal reached out and Peter actually backed away. “If I say yes - if I ask _you_ \- why is it wrong?”

“Neal - there is a relationship of trust between us - as teacher and as student. To be intimate like you want us to be would break that trust. No matter how much you say you want this - you can’t consent. As long as you are a student and as long I am your teacher - it could never happen.”

Peter damned himself then - he knew that there were two holes in his argument. Each big enough to drive a train through. And Neal was too smart, too clever not to see them. And just as Neal was about to jump into one of them, Peter did his best to close it.

“And don’t you dare think of dropping Calculus or dropping out of school - because if you did, I’d have nothing to do with you - understand?” That took care of one, but the other…

Neal was quiet for a few moments - thinking so hard that Peter could almost read what was going through his brain.

“Peter …”

He didn’t have the strength to demand that Neal go back to calling him “Mr. Burke.” Too many boundaries had been crossed this night, some things could go back to the way they were.

“You’re not really saying ‘no’ are you.”

Peter didn’t answer.

“You’re saying ‘not yet,” right?”

It was Peter’s turn to get up, to move away - to try and find some distance. Because Neal was absolutely right. To be with Neal now was wrong - but later, when law and responsibility and his own moral code were no longer factors - yes. Yes, he wanted Neal - and he thought that he’d want him until he died.

“Peter?”

He stopped pacing and paused at the fireplace - the hearth was cold, but there were logs and tinder and matches and in a matter of minutes, it could be blazing hot. Neal came and stood by him.

Peter looked at Neal. In the flickering light from the television (the angel had just taken his plunge to the mortal realm and finds his armor) he could see a new maturity and a hint of the man he would become.

_Maybe, just maybe..._ “I was hoping you’d miss that.”

Neal grinned - but the illusion of maturity didn’t fade. Maybe it wasn’t an illusion. “No - I heard every word you said, and a lot of stuff you didn’t say.”

“But you understand why?” Peter hated the touch of pleading in his voice.

“Yeah - I do. You could lose your job.”

“Yes - I could. But it’s more than that.”

“I’m not a dumb kid.”

“No, Neal - you’re not dumb, and at seventeen, not really a kid either. But you are very young, and you’ve still got your whole world in front of you. Less than a year from now - you’ll be in college, with young men that are your own age - you’ll forget about this. Forget about me.”

Neal touched the back of his hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Neal, come on. Fifteen minutes ago I was Mr. Burke, your calculus teacher, not an object of desire.”

“That’s not true.”

Peter looked at Neal, startled.

“I’ve been thinking about you. Lots. I – I... dream about you.” Neal blushed bright, bright red. “I think about us...as if we were _real_ friends.”

Peter groaned inside, but he had to make a stand. “Neal – I am your friend. Your ‘real’ friend.”

“No – I mean that we are boyfriends. We date and stuff.” Neal’s hand slipped up Peter’s wrist, hot and enticing.

He didn’t know what to say – or at least how to say it without crushing Neal’s dreams – embarrasing him – making him feel unwanted. _Or making himself feel like an idiot, an old fool, a destroyer of innocence._ So he stood there, frozen like a deer in headlights, just waiting for disaster to strike.

“I think about us a lot. Most times, when I go into the city, I pretend you’re with me – we go to the museums, concerts. We go out to dinner, and then...”

Peter didn’t say anything, his heart ached. He hadn’t realized how far Neal’s attachment had gone. So much for telling himself that he was a father figure to Neal.

Neal must have read something in his silence. “I’m pathetic. Aren’t I?” He pulled his hand away and shoved them in his pockets.

“No, no – you’re certainly not. I am honored.” _And honestly...very frightened._ Peter wanted to touch Neal, but refused to let himself.

“That’s why I asked you if you were married. I thought maybe ... maybe if you weren’t, you’d want to be friends.” Neal bit his lip. “It wouldn’t have mattered that you weren’t like me...”

“Like you?” Peter was a little confused – or maybe his brain wasn’t functioning at all – except for imagining himself and Neal – together. Not as a sweet teenager and a disgusting older man – but as friends enjoying themselves.

“Yeah – gay. I didn’t know you were...but I liked to imagine us together. Doing stuff...fooling around. You know...” Neal’s voice faded out with embarrassment.

Peter understood those fantasies all too well – it was easy, safe to think about people you’d never have a chance with, people who wouldn’t turn you down because you could never give them a chance to.

He struggled to get himself under control. “Neal, that changes nothing. I don’t want to tell you what you should and should not feel, what you should and should not think about ... but you’re at a turning point in your life. You need to explore who you are, not tie yourself – even for a little while – to a dry and used-up middle aged man.”

“You’re not like that! You’re nice and you’re funny and you’re smart and I ... I think you’re sexy. I can’t talk with anyone else – you get me. You understand me.”

_You understand me… If you say something three times, that means it’s true_

“Neal – you are going to go to college in a few months. To a school that’s know for its liberal thinking and acceptance of all kinds. You’ll find smart – brilliant – people there. Young men from all over the world that are your own age. You need to do that. You need to explore and enjoy yourself.”

“But I thought you said I should be in love for my first time?”

“Neal – I did, and I do believe that. And I really believe that you need to find a relationship with someone your own age – someone who’ll ...” Peter shut himself up. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Someone who’ll what?”

“Neal – I can’t tell you I don’t want you. And I won’t lie to you when I tell you that I don’t want to take what you’re offering. But I can’t – I can’t and then live with myself.”

They stood there, Peter wishing he could just disappear.

Neal broke the silence. “What if I said I’d wait?”

“Wait?”

“Yeah – if I said that I’d wait for you. Wait until I graduated. Would you still be interested in me?”

“Neal...”

“You say that you want me too – but I’m too young. I’m a student. But when I wasn’t – would you still want me?”

_This is what it means to be damned, Burke._ “Yes, Neal, I would.”

Neal smiled - it was like the sunrise after a long storm. “You won’t be sorry.”

“Neal, Neal - I’m not the one sacrificing anything. And I think you really need to consider what you are promising.”

“I know what I’m promising - I am going to wait until I graduate. And then we can be together, right?”

“No, not quite. I want you to have a chance to experience life. I don’t want you to give up something that you shouldn’t be promising me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neal - if you are serious about what you want…”

“I am!”

“Let me finish...if you are serious...I want you to graduate and finish your first semester. You are free to do whatever you want - well not free to go to clubs and hook up with strangers - and if you still think you want to be with me, you can come see me when you come home for winter break.”

“But that’s almost a year! That’s not fair.”

“Neal, those are my terms. You finish high school, you start college. You live the life you were meant to have. And then...” Peter hoped he sounded implacable.

"Live the life I'm meant to live? Who are you, Dr. Phil?"

Neal pouted and it was all Peter could do not to laugh, or smack Neal on the side of his head. _Or kiss him._

“Dr. Phil may be an idiot - but I’m not. I know firsthand what it’s like - and I don’t want you to ever feel guilty or disgusted or sad at what you’ve done. And I don’t want to ever feel that way either.” _Ever again_.

Peter watched as Neal’s lower lip trembled, and his eyelids dropped. He wanted to gather him close, hold him, tell him everything would be all right, that it would get better. He wanted to make it better. His body went where his mind refused to go - and he took just a single step closer.

Neal’s eyes snapped opened, and he gave him a small, tiny smile.

“If you want me to do this - to go and have a life...you’ve got to give me something.”

“What?” And Peter thought, _here be dragons_.

“Kiss me - just a kiss.” Neal looked at Peter, blue eyes shining up from those ridiculously long eyelashes. “Give me something to hold on to - just a kiss.”

Peter knew he shouldn’t - that any sort of contact, no matter how gentle, how innocently intended - could blow up in his face.

Neal reached out, his fingertips brushing against his cheekbones.

“Neal, don’t. Please.”

“Just a kiss. That’s all I’m asking for.”

Peter couldn’t resist any longer. “A kiss - that’s all.”

Neal nodded, eyes huge and grave.

Peter stepped in close and cupped the back of Neal’s head, threading his fingers through those silky, dark locks, tilting him back.

Neal’s eyes fluttered closed, but his lips opened, and Peter imagined they’d be soft and sweet.

Peter leaned down, intending to give him a gentle salute - warm and loving, nothing more than affection and a promise. His resolve held until he tasted Neal, and until Neal tasted him.

He didn’t know what he was thinking - that the young man in his arms would be a passive recipient of his kiss. Yes, Neal was inexperienced - but he was far from passive. And he seemed to be learning exponentially.

The hand that wasn’t holding on to Neal’s head had developed a mind of its own - and was gripping his waist, and sliding towards that sweet ass.

Neal’s hands were hot and smooth and surprisingly strong, sliding under his shirt, up his back, clawing at his shoulders. The blunt nails digging into his skin were a goad.

Yes, Neal’s lips were sweet, so was his tongue - at first tentative, then clever and wet and hot. Some detached part of his brain - the part that was still capable of coherent thought - laughed at the young man’s attempts to take control of the kiss, and all of Peter’s dominant instincts kicked in.

Peter kissed Neal like he’d kiss another man in the prelude to sex, and Neal seemed to give as good as he got. And it wasn’t just a meeting of lips and tongues and teeth. Peter held him close - they were joined from thigh to shoulder and he suddenly didn’t care that Neal could feel his erection, because he could certainly feel Neal’s. It rode his thigh - _not it_ , Neal - sliding up and down, thrusting against him, as hot and needy as his mouth.

It would be so easy to take him, to lay him down on the couch and strip him bare. It would be so easy to forget his rules and his personal morality and take what Neal was offering, to rut into that young, sweet body and keep him forever.

He tightened his grip on Neal’s head, his other hand coming up and holding him tight. They danced around until he had Neal backed against a wall, a thigh between his legs and Neal was humping him in a rhythm syncopated with the thrusts of his tongue.

Peter pushed at Neal, ground him into the wall, his kiss harsh, greedy, without thought except for his own needs. Neal wasn’t fighting him, but he pushed back - instinctively seeking all the pleasure he could find. And find it he did, coming in a rush, scalding hot semen flowing out of his pants, painting a stain across Peter’s thigh.

Ironically, it was Neal’s pleasure - the heat and the wetness that broke through to Peter. He pulled away, appalled at himself.

Neal leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. Panting.

“Neal...are you okay?” Peter was shaking – a combination of desire and fear.

He opened his eyes and smiled at Peter. And licked his lips. The look was pure temptation – both wicked and still innocent.

“You know, Peter – if you didn’t want me to wait, you shouldn’t have kissed me like that.” Neal ran a hand down his body, stopping at his crotch. He rubbed lightly against the dark wetness.

Peter watched that hand the way a bird watched an approaching snake. He swallowed and looked back at Neal. How did he lose the upper hand here?

“Neal – I …”

The young man looked down at Peter’s crotch, where his own erection was an obscene bulge against the soft material of his sweatpants.

“You enjoyed it too.”

“Damn it, Neal. Of course I did – way too much. I got carried away, I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Neal was unintentionally echoing Peter’s question from their drive home, another lifetime, it seemed.

“I’m sorry for taking advantage, for taking your innocence. For doing everything to you that I promised I wouldn’t.” He ran his hands through his hair, as if yanking on it would somehow deflate his dick.

“You didn’t do anything I didn’t want, and you didn’t take advantage.” He was all smiles and happiness. “You gave me something to dream about.” Neal’s voice was soft, almost as if he were talking to himself.

Somewhere in the house, a clock started to chime. It was ten o’clock – and Peter was reminded of the old and oft-quoted PSA “Do you know where your children are?”

Thankfully, Neal kept his distance. Peter didn’t think he could endure a single touch from him.

“Neal – I’m going up to my room. I need to think – I need to …” _I need to get rid of this erection, I need to think about how I am going to face you every day for the next four months, I need to understand how I am going to get through every day of the rest of my life without you._

Peter left the room, he did not look back, but the image of Neal standing next to the fireplace – tall and straight and beautiful, with the dark stain spreading across his groin was something that was unforgettable.

* * *

By the next morning, the storm had moved on – dumping over a foot of snow across the area.

Peter didn’t think he slept – he tossed and turned, feeling the memory of Neal’s lips under his – the scratch of his beard against his cheeks. His body – hot and young and hard. Neal’s hands, as they scrabbled and clung and scratched at his back. And the feel of his sex as it rode his thigh.

His own sex was an aching throb – like a wound. He stroked himself off in the shower, and again a little after midnight, but every time he thought about Neal, he swelled to a full erection.

He finally dropped into a sleep populated by many Neal Caffreys – some younger than he was now, some older – college aged, and some even older still. They all looked at him and laughed and laughed and laughed. And then turned their backs and walked away.

The scrape of a snow shovel and the rumble of a plow woke him from a sleep that somehow went from restless to profound. The bedside clock was blinking – the power must have gone out at some point, but Peter grabbed his watch. It was a little after seven. He checked his phone – now that the storm had passed, the reception improved and he called in. As Hughes had said yesterday – the school was closed.

Peter leaned back against the pillows, afraid to face the day.

He laid there for a few minutes, cursing his cowardice. It took the sound of Neal’s voice – laughter at something the plow driver must have said – to get him out of bed.

Thankfully, his pants had dried. The thought of putting on sweatpants stained with Neal’s come was too much to bear. He dressed and gathered his belongings, venturing downstairs – praying that Neal was outside and he could make his departure with a minimal amount of fuss.

Neal had done an admirable job of shoveling. He was wearing ski pants and high boots and a turtleneck sweater – and looked like something out of a magazine.

He must have heard Peter come outside.

“Mr. Burke! You’re all dug out, and it looks like your car’s fine.”

Neal’s blue eyes sparkled – but Peter was infinitely grateful that he seemed to accept that their relationship (if there really was one) had to remain on a student/teacher footing.

“Thank you, Neal.” He put his bags in the trunk of his car.

“Do you want breakfast? Coffee?” Neal was unchanged – surprisingly so – from their encounter last night. _Maybe it was all a dream?_

“No, I need to go.”

The plow pushed the last of the snow out onto the curb and the driver gave a shout and a wave before heading off. Neal waved back and turned to Peter.

“Peter...” Neal was all excited smiles now – it definitely _wasn’t_ a dream.

“Neal...” He stretched the name out...making it a threat, a question, a statement of fact.

Neal tilted up his chin and looked him in the eye.

_He is going to be some kind of man._

“Tomorrow – you’ll be Mr. Burke, my favorite teacher. But now – here, you’re Peter.”

Peter nodded – not liking, but understanding.

“You think that I’m crushing on you, I get that. But I’m not. What I feel is real and I don’t think it will ever change. Just because I’m younger than you doesn’t mean I can’t feel as strong.”

“Neal...”

“I know you want me to find who I am...but I know who I am now. And it makes me happy. So unless you didn’t mean it, you’re going to be stuck with me.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. He knew it was wrong to encourage Neal’s feelings, but if they could make it through, then maybe there was a chance. He’d be stupid not to grab it with both hands.

And Peter Burke may be many things, but stupid he wasn’t.

“Okay, Neal – but tomorrow, in school – it’s as if this never happened. You have to accept that. No special looks, no winks and nods and playing games with me. And if at any point, you find someone – someone you feel something for, you grab on to that and don’t ever, ever look back.”

Peter opened his car door but Neal put a restraining hand on his arm.

“I understand, Peter. And I can live with that.” Neal leaned in and gave him a soft kiss on his cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be careful driving.”

The spot where Neal’s lips brushed burned.

He stepped away from the Taurus and Peter got in and buckled up. As he drove down the curving driveway, he watched Neal in the rearview mirror. Standing there, arms at his side, legs spread, looking like he was ready to take on the world.

* * *

Years later, when he thought about it, Peter had no idea how he made it through the rest of the school year.

Neal still showed up a few minutes early, they still talked about current events, and art and music. Peter asked him how his other classes were going, Neal never asked him anything personal.

And Neal never stayed late unless there was another student in the room. Peter was grateful, but he wasn’t sure if this was a way the young man was pulling away from him (good), or just ensuring that Peter wasn’t ever going to be put into a compromising position (a frightening thought – that Neal was so conscious of Peter’s own morality).

He got a call from Neal’s mother a few days after the snowstorm, thanking him for taking good care of her son. He wanted to upbraid her – to tell her that she had no right to leave her child home alone. But he didn’t. _Coward_. She offered to pay for the repairs to his car. He said it wasn’t at all necessary. They didn’t talk again.

Neal turned eighteen the last week in March, and it looked like his mother – absentee that she may be – tried to make up for it. He was now driving a slick red Alfa Romeo, and it seemed that his classmates finally took notice of him. One evening, mid-April, Peter walked to his car and spotted Neal and another boy chatting and laughing. The other kid - Alex Hunter, Peter recognized him from the Pre-Calculus class he taught, was tall and blond and leaning over Neal like he owned him. Neal didn’t seem to mind.

Even for the seniors with a full plate of AP exams, the spring semester was always a joy, and once the exams were over – it was hard to keep any of them in their seats.

Peter always wondered why he bothered to try and teach after the exams, and this year he approached Principal Hughes about letting the kids cut out if they wanted. Reese looked at him like he was crazy, but he ended up agreeing anyway.

Not that Peter left early – he sat in the warm classroom, catching up on his reading, hoping that maybe Neal would stop by. And he laughed at himself for being an old, gay fool. A few weeks before the exam, Neal had stopped showing up early. Peter took to keeping a cautious eye out for him – and he was easy enough to find. Usually enjoying senior privilege, hanging out on the front lawn with his new friend, Alex.

* * *

And so the year came to a close. Peter attended graduation, if just to see Neal for one last time. He didn’t approach him, and he didn’t expect Neal to come over to see him. But he did, arm-in-arm with a tall, slim woman with dark hair and blue eyes that matched her son’s.

“Mr. Burke! I want you to meet my mom.” Whatever animosity that Neal had expressed that one day seemed to have never existed. The pair of them looked close, and the woman wore an expression of great pride on her face.

Peter tried not to flush when Neal introduced him as his “favorite” teacher. They chatted for a few – and Peter couldn’t help but think how young Neal looked in his cap and gown.

He suddenly hared off, waving at his friend – Alex. Peter stood there, a little awkward.

“I want to thank you again, Mr. Burke. For helping Neal out.”

“It was nothing – I just drove him home.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

Peter blinked, sick dread forming a knot in his stomach.

“I really had no idea how close I was to losing my son. I didn’t see. Do you know what I mean?”

Peter shook his head.

“The weekend after you stayed over, Neal told me he’s gay.” She turned to look at her son, in animated conversation with a group of his classmates.

“Ms. Caffrey...”

“Call me Elyn.”

“Okay, Elyn – but I don’t know how you think I helped Neal come out to you.”

“He told me that he told you – and you didn’t laugh or get angry or act like it was a big deal. He said you just accepted him for what he was. He was so frightened that people would hate him for being gay.”

“Did you know...before?”

“Yes – the administrators at Wendover made it quite clear why Neal wasn’t welcome to return for his senior year. But we didn’t discuss it – I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. I thought it was better to just let him be. That was a mistake – I see that now.”

The conversation came to an abrupt halt when Neal came running back, robes flying. “Alex and Teddy and a bunch of other kids are going to the beach – can I go too?”

“I thought we were going to go have lunch and celebrate?”

Neal pouted and Peter wondered how he could have ever thought that there’d be a future.

Elyn brushed her hand through his tousled forelock. “Go – have fun. But call if you’re going to be late. I’ll be home this weekend.” Neal gave her a hug and turned to Peter.

“Mr. Burke – I ...”

Neal’s friends called for him. He just smiled and walked backward for a few steps before running off.

_And so it ends._

* * *

Once again, Peter had a Calculus class scheduled for the last period of the day, and his students were bright and as attentive as they could be on the last day before winter break. The bell rang and scattered with best wishes for the holidays.

Peter sighed. This was going to be a rough break – maybe he should have gone away, taken a cruise. Did something. His ex, Elizabeth, said he looked like crap. Or that he had his heart broken.

Peter supposed both were true. He occasionally got emails from Neal - mostly filled with comments about his academics, sometimes about a cultural event he enjoyed, but never about his social life. He responded in kind - the contents of his replies were carefully blank, neutral to the point of blandness.

He shoved his computer into his briefcase, gathered up some papers and looked up when someone called his name softly.

It was Neal, standing at the door. He looked taller, maybe. Broader, definitely. His hair was long and shaggy, the five o’clock shadow thick and growing into a respectable beard. But he was still heartbreakingly beautiful.

Neal entered the classroom, carefully closing the door behind him.

“Hello, Peter.”

Peter looked everywhere but at Neal.

“Aren’t you going to say ‘hello’ back?”

Peter muttered a greating.

Neal just stood there, hands in his pockets, biting his lip.

“I did like you asked.”

“What?” Peter looked up.

“I came back. Like we agreed. I came back.”

Peter shook his head. “Neal - you didn’t have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I told you that when you meet someone else, you shouldn’t look back. You don’t owe me anything.”

“I haven’t met anyone. Why would you think I did?” If Peter didn’t know better, he’d think that Neal was hurt.

“Alex? Alex Hunter? Remember him? The two of you looked pretty good together last spring.”

Neal laughed. “You’re jealous! Alex is a cool guy - but he wasn’t - he isn’t my boyfriend.”

Peter shook his head and sighed. “Neal, please. You don’t have to do this. I’m sure you have better things to do than …”

“Than what?” Neal interruped him. “Than come collect on the promise you made me?”

“No - than come and see what an old fool I am.”

“You’re not old.”

“I’m twenty years older than you, Neal.”

“Which means you’re not even forty yet. Not that forty is old, or anything.”

“It’s plenty old.”

“I don’t care. And don’t tell me it should matter.”

“It does, Neal. It has to.”

“No, Peter. It doesn’t.”

“This is what we’ve descended to? Squabbling like nine-year olds?”

“Well, it’s better than listening to you moan about being too old for me.”

Peter swallowed. “Neal - I am. You know that.”

Neal stepped in close. “No, you’re not. You are still the best man I know.”

Peter looked away. He wanted to step away, rebuild his armor. Neal smelled so good, though. Like a cold day, a warm fireplace, like the woods and musk and soap. Like a man should smell. Like every weakness Peter had.

“You promised me, Peter. You promised that when I finished my first semester, if I still wanted to be with you, we could be together. Were you lying to me?” There was a small accusation and a wealth of hurt in Neal’s voice.

“No, Neal. I wasn’t. But I don’t …” Peter paused.

“You don’t, what?”

Peter closed his eyes and damned himself. “I don’t want to be hurt. Okay? I don’t want you to look at me tomorrow, or next week or next month or whenever and say to yourself, ‘what I am doing?’ I don’t want to feel like a girl - waiting for you to call. I don’t want to come home one night and find all trace of you gone like you never existed. I don’t want to pick up the pieces of myself and try to fit them back together. Only to find that most of what I am is gone.”

“So, you’re saying let’s forget about everything because I’m fickle and shallow and I’ll leave you because I’ve found something better?”

Peter didn’t answer.

“Has that happened before?”

This time, the silence was telling.

“I can’t imagine anyone walking out on you. And I don’t know what I can say that will make you trust me.

Neal stepped in close, temptation on two legs. Peter backed up, retreated, tried to find an escape, but there was none.

“I want you to make good on your promise. I want to be with you, now, tomorrow - maybe forever. And I know you want me too - and I know it’s more than just desire. I saw it in your face, every day. I saw it after graduation. You set the rules, I just played by them. You can’t be angry with me for doing what you told me to do.”

Neal was so close, Peter could feel the heat radiating off his body. _No, I can’t._

Peter wrapped the shreds of his dignity around himself and decided that, for once in his life, he was going to do what he wanted, damn caution, damn the future, damn whatever would be. He couldn’t stand here, wallowing in hurt that Neal had moved on, and then when he does show up, reject him in some misguided attempt to protect himself.

He looked into Neal’s blue, blue eyes and smiled. The young man’s answering smile sent an arrow of lust right through him, and this time he wasn’t going to hold back,

Peter spun Neal around and pushed him against the wall. “You want me, Neal? You want to be mine? You want me to fuck you? You want that?” Peter breathed down Neal’s neck, whispering his desires into his ear. “Do you?”

He felt Neal’s shiver, he saw Neal’s nod.

“Not good enough. Tell me, tell me you want me.”

“Yes, Peter. I want you. I want you. I want you.” Neal panted into Peter’s ear as he licked a dirty stripe along his ear, from the white collar of his shirt to his ear.

“Did you let anyone fuck you?” Peter wondered at himself. It had been a long time since he’d let himself go like this. “Did anyone touch you?”

Neal threw his head back against the wall, and closed his eyes. He shook his head.

“Not good enough, Neal. I’ve already told you, you need to say it. I’m not going to repeat myself a third time.”

“No, no one’s touched me, no one’s fucked me.”

“Good - because if you’re going to be mine, you don’t get to play around.”

“I don’t want to. I just want you.”

Peter pinned him to the wall with his hips - just as he had that night. “When you touch yourself, what do you think of?”

“You, only you. Your mouth, your body. I touch myself and pretend it’s your hands on me.” Neal looked at him - a lascivious gleam in this eyes. “My roommate is kind of scared by how much time I spend jerking off. It’s a good thing his name isn’t ‘Peter’.”

Peter laughed, and humped his groin against Neal’s. “You’re going to have to show me how you handle yourself.”

“You like to watch?” Neal thrust back, and stuck his hand down the back of Peter’s pants, wedging his fingers against the top of his crack.

“You little shit - you come here, into my classroom...”

“But you like it, don’t you?” Neal was provocation in a leather jacket and black turtleneck.

Peter didn’t answer, or at least his answer wasn’t verbal. He kissed Neal - hot, hard, uncaring of who might walk in, who might see them. Neal melted against him, moaning in his need. He pulled back. “You taste as good as my dreams.”

Neal reached for his belt, but Peter pushed his hands away. “You don’t get to touch me until I say so.” He wanted to shove Neal onto his knees, he wanted to plunder that mouth, ravage it.

In the small part of his brain that remained sane and detached, Peter wondered at his own behavior. Going so full bore dominate on Neal - who by his own admission, still had limited experience. But Neal mewled again and the small sound sent him over the edge. He may have actually pushed Neal down to the floor and shoved his cock in his mouth, but a wave of sound penetrated through the closed door.

They didn’t break apart, but Peter put a few inches between them. “We’re not doing this here.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve made reservations for us at the Old Lyme Inn - through Christmas day.”

“You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

Neal pressed a small, sweet kiss against the corner of Peter’s mouth. “No, but I wanted it to be right.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here.” He swept up his coat and case and slung an arm around Neal.

The halls were still full of students, but no one paid attention to them. Walking out with his arm on Neal’s shoulder, he felt a rising tide of joy, of freedom. Students wished him happy holidays, a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year.

He should be worried at the image he made, he should be worried that his students, his fellow teachers, would see him openly affectionate with another man.

He didn’t care. He was happy and in love and for the first time in his life, he just didn’t care.

  
_FIN_   



End file.
